This bed it is a bridge
Of what is real and fantasy I despise reality I'd rather keep dreaming Where I am free To be alive Where I will thrive And my heart can be Free from knives I will not cry I can not feel I stay in bed to escape what is real
To compensate for (A -Z)
ineradicable alphanumeric character flaws (i.e. mutations of body or mind,) and avoid amass sing wracking up vexatiously undesirable threatening class action lawsuit against Matthew Scott Harris, which preliminary measure taken to avoid disembarrass sing said individual as a majorly flawed individual literal shortcomings of body, mind and spirit, the metier of writing doth encompass a creative realm to trump geomorphology, sans groundmass at the unsolicited expense (mine alter ego i.e. worst critic) will gleefully find, and expose grammatical, misspelling, spelling, et cetera errors to harass glommed together with isinglass hop, skip and jumping to appear as a ******* whereat no respect able collegiate lass would give a fig about me, one totally tubular royal morass, which expert anthropologists stumped asper nonclass if eye able **** sapiens mutant ninja turtle case in point being his wanting in height not e'en pass sing the six foot mark plus mental illness perhaps traceable to besotted cognitive damage inherited predecessors quaffing an overdose of quass made obvious peering at resulting Ct scan results viewed via microscopic spyglass revealing abnormal amygdala automatically designating his aptitude underclass among average human with mettlesome Zeusian brass.
when i was distant,
you were there when i am here, you are where? scattered the floor getting brushed into corners not knowing where the pieces of you belong anymore i think i know who i am until the porcelain architecture of you the sacred curvatures of your song is put in my hands should i glue you back together? could i have a small piece? for keepsake or should i just let you be safe and let someone else melt you down into some other shape? i thought if i held you, you'd pry your wings open and, well fly but dear bird, i am not magic i never was to begin with and now i must come to terms with this ~ why do i break every thing i touch
If I lose my father,
I will be an orphan. If I lose my mother, I will be an orphan. If I lose my loved one, I will be an orphan.
My HP Poem #883
"You're always moving forward.
Just sometimes, the road gets bumpy as ****." The road may get bumpy, but I'm ever so clumsy. Give me a spotter otherwise I may break something along the way. I'm not saying I need to be saved, I just need someone to make sure I'm okay.
midnight conversations with johnny. 5/26/2015
Because often there are icy roads,
Icy roads coated with darkest ice, They can make vehicles slip & crash, All slip not only out of the icy roads, But even into each other they collide, These call for going slow in Oslo, 'Cause reasons suchlike prevail. Neither snow chains can help much, Nor being an expert driver help you, No other thing is going to help you.. Help yourselves & others too, Just go slow in Oslo...
My HP Poem #865 ©Atul Kaushal
If it gets you through the night,
you could sit there on the couch and pretend that I’m not listening. We’ve been over this time and again, yet here you are flipped from side B to side A. I hope your tape breaks and this message is flipping in the wind on a tab with a marker marked red. I hope you understand. My life feels like vacation but my… well everybody will promise you violence over practically nothing and I think I deserve a better planet. Instead I’m here. It’s marginally all my ego, but mostly I just want to disappear. I swear; If I break a heart I’ll fix it, but I’m a disease and a symptom, and I stick like bad religion. Worshipers take shelter from this cult. I’d even stab you if I had proper motivation, and I didn’t treat myself like my own martyr for nothing. The “real” me may only be what you make of me anyways. My image of myself only exists within my head, and in that image I am rotten with perfection. My only corduroy is torn and smells of bleach, but I’m too sleepy to change into my skin. I swear I’m more than just an ordinary sin, just because I’m also my own martyr.
— The End —